


This is not a letter but my arms around you for a brief moment

by sirona



Series: Darling buds of May [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Cuddling and Snuggling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur comes home from work, completely exhausted, and finds an Eames in his apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is not a letter but my arms around you for a brief moment

**Author's Note:**

> Basically some _Darling Buds of May_ -verse fluffy cuddles. As you do. I was having a bad day, okay. Title is a quote by Katherine Mansfield.

When Arthur comes home, he finds Eames already ensconced on the sofa, mug of fragrant tea in one hand and the latest Michio Kaku hardback in the other, because Eames is the kind of stupidly intelligent and naturally inquisitive person that finds theoretical physics soothing. His wire-rimmed glasses have slipped low on his nose, and Arthur watches from the doorway as Eames pushes them back in place with a long finger.

Arthur is... exhausted, not to put too fine a twist on it. It's been a hideous day; the arrangements for the Johannes wedding have gone to pot, he's going to have to start all over again because David has conveniently forgotten to tell him of his future mother-in-law's life-threatening allergy to lily pollen (Arthur has his suspicions about David's lapse in memory -- Mrs Alastair is a Chanel-tweed-wearing Gorgon); and on top of everything Dom has been onto him again, about absorbing _Penrose Flowers_ into his huge multi-million network of corporate florists, and Arthur had had to revisit their old, well-worn argument that basically amounted to 'over my dead body' on his part.

Eames, sprawled over the sofa, propped up by a few of Arthur's beloved designer cushions, is a tall drink of cool water, and Arthur is _parched_. He tugs his messenger bag over his head and lets it drop from his tired fingers by the door, shrugs out of his jacket and walks over, nudging Eames' long, sturdy limbs aside and burrowing a space for himself into Eames' body, nose tucked into that spot where Eames' neck joins his shoulder, arms coming to rest around Eames' reassuringly solid chest.

A huff of amusement stirs the fine hairs by his ear as one of Eames' arms comes to curl around him, pulling him closer and starting a leisurely stroking over his spine. Warm, plush lips press a kiss just above his right eyebrow. Arthur damn near purrs with contentment.

"Long day, love?" Eames' husky voice rumbles overhead; Arthur doesn't bother to hide his wince as he closes his eyes and lets himself just breathe for a bit.

He loves those moments best, coming back to his apartment to find that Eames has made himself at home on Arthur's favourite sofa, sipping a mug of the tea that has mysteriously found a place in Arthur's cupboards (he doesn't drink tea), helping himself to Arthur's books -- or bringing a few of his own along. Just the fact that Arthur can come home to _Eames_ waiting for him is enough to get him through the toughest of days.

Eames hums now; Arthur can hear the smile in his voice, doesn't have to look up to imagine the fond look on Eames' face, the crinkle in the corners of his soft eyes.

"Dinner?" Eames fishes, and Arthur rouses himself to let out a long groan and an "In a bit," mangled from being pressed into Eames' pale-pink-with-charcoal-grey-pinstripes shirt.

"Okay," Eames says, agreeable and pliant under Arthur's cheek. He lifts the mug to his mouth again, takes another sip of bergamot-fragranced tea and clears his throat.

"'Emotions are also essential if you view the evolution of the human brain,'" Eames reads softly, letting the words float past Arthur's ear, there to be absorbed or ignored at will. Arthur lets himself go boneless, feel the warm, firm body underneath, allow Eames' deliciously fresh yet musky scent soothe him from the pains and aches of the day, and drifts on a calm sea of nothing but _this_.


End file.
